Sarah
by Kayley Taylor
Summary: Sarah is raised to believe that she is the daughter of Cal Hockley. She also believes that Rose is her mother who left her when she was just a baby. Sarah looses the one thing she had faith in her whole life. Formerly known as What Hurts The Most.
1. My Angel

What Hurts The Most

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Titanic, Rose, Jack, or Cal. I would want to own Jack, though...tee hee hee...Anywho's I wouldn't want to own Cal. -Shudders- I don't own the title, since it's used by Rascal Flatts. I only own Sarah and this sorry excuse for a plot line.

**A/N:** Okay, this is my first fanfic. Please be nice! I will gladly accept constructive criticism and ideas for future chapters. I know this first chapter is a little boring (aren't they all?) So, with that being said, here's your first chapter, kiddies!

Caledon Hockley looked around the St. Katherine's Orphanage. He saw all the children running around, dressed in ratty clothes. A child with blonde, curly hair ran past his feet, squealing as another child chased her.

The orphanage was obviously too cramped for all of these small children. The wooden floors were run down and not the dark brown that they could have been. The stairs looked even worse. He imagined that they were musty and probably starting to mold.

A painting of a boy fishing in a boat hung by the stairs. A boy hunched over at the foot of the stairs, about fourteen years old, looked up at Cal. Cal realized that this boy bore a strong resemblance to Jack Dawson.

_God, no, not back to the Titanic again_, Cal thought. He wanted to forget everything on that happened on that voyage. How his beautiful fiancee who he loved, Rose DeWitt Bukater, left him for Jack Dawson. He thought about her everyday, her fine, porcelain-doll like features. Her fiery red hair, dark blue eyes, fair skin and full red lips. She was as beautiful as they came in his mind. No one could be more beautiful than Rose. But what if they had waited just one day later to go onto Titanic? Would she have been Rose Hockley?

_Yes_, he thought. _She would. We'd be living here in New York together. We'd have been married. She would have been mine._

But no, that little bastard named Jack Dawson had to ruin everything for them. Well, more precisely, he had to ruin everything for Cal. All Cal got out of the deal was a naked drawing of Rose and an empty heart.

Were they still alive? Cal could have sworn that he saw Rose get out of the boat when they arrived that night in New York a few months ago. He half thought he was delusional, but he thought he really did see her.

Cal had to remind himself why he was here. That's right, he was here to adopt a child. Preferably a little girl. Since Rose was no longer with him (and he knew he was never going to find another woman), he thought he could at least adopt a child and help it. Maybe, if he was lucky, she would bloom into another Rose.

Cal walked down the hallway and knocked on the door that said "Sister Amy". He waited for a few moments until a nun with slightly wrinkled skin opened the door. She seemed to be about forty years old. Red roots poked out subtly of her black hat. Clear blue eyes scanned him over.

"Can I help you?" the woman asked.

"I'm Cal Hockley. Are you Sister Amy?" Cal asked.

"Yes I am. Oh wait, we've been exchanging letters, haven't we?"

"Yes we have," he said smoothly.

Sister Amy smiled and stepped aside. "Come in! It's so nice to finally meet you in person!"

Cal walked into her office. It was a little stuffy. The walls were a dirty yellow, papers scattered on Sister Amy's desk they were blown there by the wind. He sat down in a wooden chair on one side of her desk.

"I'm so glad you've considered adoption, Mr. Hockley," Sister Amy said. She sat across from him and crossed her legs.

Cal smiled. "Oh...I just think it's good to help someone. You know, give them a head start on life."

Sister Amy smiled. "Well...that's very generous of you."

_I know_, Cal thought.

"Can I get you anything to drink? Tea?" she asked.

"No, no, that's alright. I'd just like to get started on the adoption as soon as we can."

Sister Amy got up from her chair, walked over to a cabinet, and looked for a folder with Cal's name on it. She sat back down and opened it, scanning the letters that Cal had sent her over the past few months.

"It says here that you want a little girl, Mr. Hockley," she said.

"Yes, if at all possible. Daddy's little girl, you know."

Sister Amy smiled, almost as if she was remembering that she was Daddy's little girl. "Do you have a specific age group that you'd like to look into?"

Cal paused, then said, "The younger the better. Maybe under one year, if possible?"

She nodded, then stood up. "If you could follow me upstairs, I'll show you our little ones."

He left the office, following Sister Amy. The boy that looked like Jack Dawson was still hunched by the stairs. Cal felt like hitting him, even though he knew that wasn't the real Jack.

_Still serves him right though_, he thought. _Jack steals Rose...MY Rose...I hope he died when the Titanic sank. He deserved it._

They went up the stairs, then down a long hallway. Cal saw more younger children playing with wooden toys in their bedrooms. He saw the older children reading and talking to each other.

At the end of the hallway was a room of cribs. Babies were laying down. He walked into the room. It was painted light green. A relaxing color for babies, he guessed.

"Well, here we are. These are our youngest," Sister Amy whispered. "Go ahead and have a look."

Cal looked at the first one. It couldn't have been older than four months. A tuft of blonde hair came out of it's pale head. He smiled softly and looked at the others. He was starting to go soft and actually care for something. He actually thought they were...cute.

He peered over at a baby who was about five months old. Brown hair spouted from it's head. It was sleeping on it's back, hands curled up into little fists. It had a glowing, cherubic face that he thought only it could possess.

He must have been looking at the baby for a long time, because Sister Amy came up and started telling him about it.

"This is Sarah," she whispered.

He grinned. "She's adorable." He looked at her longer. "What else do you know about Sarah?"

She walked to the foot of Sarah's crib and pulled out a few sheets of paper hanging from it. Cal realized that all the cribs had information attached to it.

She handed the folder to Cal. He opened it and looked at the information on the baby in front of him.

He found out that her parents were originally from England, but had to give her up because they couldn't afford her to take care of her when they came to America. Both parents lived in Brooklyn. He found out that her mother was a seamstress and her father made machine parts for miscellaneous things.

He skimmed through most of it until Cal found her birthday: April 15th, 1912. That was the same day that the Titanic sunk, that his only chance of surviving was taking some random child with him and pretending that it was his.

_Ironic_, he thought.

"You wouldn't happen to know when Sarah was born, would you?" Cal asked Sister Amy.

She looked at the papers, then flipped to the other page with her birth certificate. "2:20 AM."

2:20. The same exact time that the ship went down. A chill went down his spine. This was obviously an omen to get Sarah.

"This is the one," Cal said decisively.

Sister Amy raised her thin, red eyebrows. "Really? So quick?"

"Yes. Sarah is the little girl for me, I believe."

She smiled, then walked out of the room, passing another nun. "Sister Mary, could you please get Sarah ready to be taken away? Mr. Hockley is ready to adopt her."

The woman known as Sister Mary nodded, then went into the room with Sarah. Sister Amy and Cal walked back downstairs to sign the adoption papers.

"Would you like to get your wife, sir? I'll be glad to just wait. She does have sign the papers after all," Sister Amy said.

"Actually...my wife couldn't be here today," Cal said.

"We can wait for another day. You are married, right?" she asked.

"Well...I was. My wife passed away a few years ago," he said softly, eyes diverted to the floor. Cal was a good liar, and he damn well knew it. He could get anything with the way he lied. And that now included Sarah.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Mr. Hockley," Sister Amy said.

Cal shook his head nonchalantly. "Don't worry. She's in a better place."

_Like the arms of Jack Dawson are better than the arms of mine_, he thought bitterly.

She was quiet after Cal had spoken. She pulled out the adoption papers and handed him a pen. "You can sign that. Just skip your wife's part."

Cal skimmed through the papers and started signing. The silence between them grew more and more loud.

"If you don't mind me asking...what was your wife's name?" Sister Amy asked.

"Rose," he said softly. "Died of a fever. God rest her soul."

He could see it in her eyes that she felt sorry for him and to ever have brought anything up. He knew he was a great actor. He inwardly have himself a pat on the back.

"Well, sir, here she is. Little Sarah Hockley," Sister Amy said, after the papers were all signed.

Cal took Sarah into his arms. Those big brown eyes held all of the potential in the world. She knew he would look just like him. She'd grow up to be the most beautiful girl in all of Brooklyn, maybe in all of New York.

Sarah's eyes met his. Even though there was no blood relation, their eyes were the exact same color. Her glowing skin made her look like an angel.

She's my angel.

**R/R! It's only polite!**


	2. Future Thoughts

**Thank you all for the reviews! He he! I'm sorry that this is such a short chapter. I promise Chapter Three will be longer!**

Cal set Sarah down for the evening at 7:30. He gently laid her down in the crib that he had bought a week ago. He had worked for the past month at putting together a nursery for Sarah. He had painted the walls a pale pink, gotten a nice crib for her, clothes, everything a five month old could need.

Sarah fell asleep right away. Cal stood in the nursery for a few minutes. The house had an eerie silence to it, considering that there was now a young child in here.

Even though the day was far off, he wondered how he would tell Sarah that she was adopted. Would she accept it politely? Would she scream and yell at him? Would she go as far as running away?

Would he even tell her at all?

He went back to the living room and sat down in a chair. The days were getting a bit cooler since it was now late September. A slight chill was in the air. Fall came over Brooklyn, New York.

Ever since Cal arrived in New York five months ago, he called Virginia Street his home. This was the road with millionaires. He had a few servants in the house. One was a cook, and the other was a housekeeper who did all the cleaning.

He picked up the Brooklyn Eagle and read the paper in silence. He kept waiting for Sarah to wake up and start wailing. She had been asleep ever since she brought her home, which was at noon.

_Good Lord, how long could a child possibly sleep?_ he thought.

He skimmed through the paper for a while, then folded it up and went to sleep.

The instant he lay down, he heard what he was waiting for all night: Sarah.

The ear piercing cry came from the room down the hall. It was now dark enough where he could barely see across the room. Cal stumbled getting up and walked to Sarah's room. He could see her chubby arms flailing in the air. Cal was somewhat afraid to try and soothe her, seeing as he was in a perfect position to get hit in the face.

_What do I do?_ he thought. _Rose would know what to do. Seeing as she's not here she can't help me, now can she?_

He decided to pick Sarah up and walk around the room with her for a while. He tried to think what Rose would do if they were a family.

_Well, this wouldn't be _my _job_, he thought. _She'd be taking care of Sarah. Or whatever we would end up naming our child._

The crying that came from little Sarah only became louder. That was when Cal realized it would be a long night. And the first time that maybe it would be a long few years.


	3. My Heart Won't Go On

**I thought I'd do a chapter on Rose. This is where she's kind of reflecting on Jack and whatnot. Tell me what you think of it!**

* * *

Rose couldn't do it.

She sat in her bed, a pencil in her hands and a sheet of paper on her lap, a book used as a desk. A lamp, a book on her lap substituted as a desk. The lamp next to her glowed dimly, making Rose's porcelain face seem angelic.

She was assigned to write a song for the cabaret that she worked at. Richard's paid fairly decent money. Enough to survive on, at least. After Rose had arrived in New York on the Carpathia, she traveled to Boston. She wanted to be far, far away from anyone that she had ever met on the Titanic, especially Cal and her mother. She figured she would never be bothered by either of them ever again.

Try as Rose did, she couldn't think of anything to write about. There was no inspiration. There was Jack, as always, but she wasn't about to write the same old sad song about him. She could write how angry and alone Cal had made her feel. No, that didn't seem right either.

She sighed put her head on the headboard. Nothing was working tonight. She decided to just let her mind wander away from writing songs. She thought about the Titanic. That always inspired her.

What was Cal doing? Even though she didn't like him (she despised the man), she was still curious about him. He could become a source for her venting. No, it didn't seem right to write about Cal.

She could write about how unfair life was. She was positive everyone could relate to that. But then again, they had probably never seen their one true love die right in front of them, frozen to death, just to keep the person that they love alive.

Oh, when Rose had to watch Jack sink down into the dark, freezing cold waters, it had to be one of the most painful, if not the most painful, moments of her life. His skin had turned blue, his hair sprinkled with ice crystals. She knew she couldn't save Jack. That's probably what hurt the most.

If I had moved over on that door...he could have laid next to me, she thought. _He'd be alive right now. The boats would have rescued us both. I'd be living with him in California right now. We'd be riding on the roller coasters together, looking at the ocean...everything that a couple in love does._

, she thought. 

She remembered what she had promised to Jack in his final moments. Go to California. Have lots of babies. Go on.

That's it. She knew what to write about.

Rose lifted her head off of the headboard and started writing on the paper "My Heart Will Go On." But when she actually looked at it, it didn't seem right. She couldn't go on when she still loved Jack. She knew that she was always going to.

That's the biggest lie I've ever written, she thought.

Rose crumpled the piece of paper up and swallowed the lump in her throat. She tossed the piece of paper across the room.

Why did you have to go, Jack? I miss you. I love you. I'm always going to love you.

She felt Jack around her. Rose always felt him around her. Maybe that's why she couldn't go on when she knew he was always looking out for her, guarding her. Or maybe she fell in love too hard and too fast to ever get out of it.

She could almost hear Jack saying, "Come on, Rose. Don't be sad. Do what you promised. Go to California and ride the roller coasters until you puke. Make lots of babies. Come on, you said you would never let go of that promise."

But you let go, she thought. _You let go of my hand in the ocean. And you're resting at the bottom of it somewhere. Why shouldn't I let go?_

, she thought. 

Because she was Rose Dawson, that's why.


	4. A Life Changing Lie

**Alright, you may not understand this. That's fine. Basically Cal is being the Cal you all remember: a selfish liar. So, with that being said, here you go, chapter four.

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**

Fourteen and a half years had gone by since Sarah had entered Cal's life. But there was not one day in Sarah's young life when she wondered why she didn't have a mother. She had never bothered to ask her father, seeing as he was never home. Even when he was, he wasn't in the mood to talk much. But tonight Sarah decided to take a chance. She was sick of playing guessing games with herself, wondering what happened to her mother.

Sarah got out of the chair in her vanity and walked to the living room where she saw her father sitting in the same chair he did when he _was_ home, reading The Brooklyn Eagle, as usual.

"Dad?" Sarah asked.

Cal looked up from his paper. "Sweet pea. How are you?"

Sweet pea. There was nothing more that she hated than being called that.

"I'm alright," she answered. "How are you?"

"Just fine."

Silence.

"Can I...Can I ask you something?" Sarah asked.

"Of course. Anything."

She sat down in the couch across from him. She crossed her legs nervously and started to pick at a fabric ball on the sofa, but stopped herself.

She remembered how she had tried to say it while she was alone one night, rehearsing, while her father was out drinking. (She wasn't stupid, she knew he was out drinking with friends. That was what most of the nights consisted of nowadays) _Where's Mom?_ No, she knew that didn't sound right. _Did Mom die? _No, too dramatic. _Was Mom killed? _No, even worse.

"How come I don't have a mom?"

She didn't want it to come out that way, it just did. She decided that that was better than her other lines that she had thought of.

A look of question spread of Cal's face. "Where's your mother?"

Sarah nodded. She knew she had said the wrong thing by the way her father was looking at her. She diverted her eyes to the floor.

Cal folded up his paper and leaned forward. "Sarah. Sarah, sweet pea, look at me."

Sarah's brown eyes met her father's.

"I knew this day would come. I just don't know how to tell you."

Sarah folded her hands in her lap and tried to keep his gaze.

"Your mother...she...she was beautiful. You have her lips, you know."

Sarah subconsciously touched her full lips, then placed them at her side. "What happened to her though?"

Silence hung between them.

"It all started when you were five months old. You were just a little girl. Cute as could be. Then along comes a man by the name of Jack Dawson."

"Jack Dawson?"

"Yes. Ah, Mr. Dawson was quite the unpleasantry in this family. Started a war between your mother and me, Sarah."

"But...but what happened?"

"Oh, she ran off with him soon after. Never saw or heard of her again. But...Rose...was she ever beautiful. I would have given anything to get her to stay with me. Believe me, I tried everything. Even gave her the guilt trip of having you. I told her that we needed to be a family."

Sarah could hear her father's voice getting louder.

"But, no. She had to run off with Jack Dawson and ruin everything!"

She wasn't sure if she had seen her father this upset over something before. Of course she had seen him angry, but this time he looked like he was ready to break something.

So her mother didn't die like Sarah had initially thought. She just left. She was abandoned by her own mother. _Who does that?_ she thought.

She suppressed a sigh. "Thank you for telling me. The truth, at least."

Sarah walked to her room and closed the door behind her. She went on her bed and hugged a pillow. She couldn't help but now feel an animosity towards her own mother.

_Wait, _she thought. She sat up and grabbed a spare piece of paper and a pen. She wrote down the name Rose Dawson on a piece of paper.

_Someday_, Sarah thought. _Someday I'll find her and ask her to explain herself._

_

* * *

_

Sarah walked in the dimly lit hallways of the Peterson Detective Agency. Even though it was April, she felt cold. Or maybe it was because she was nervous.

Sarah came to the detective agency so she could track down her mother. Her father had no idea that she was out in the evening. If he was, he was sure he would yell at her. She wouldn't be let out of the house for a month.

But she knew she didn't have to worry about that. It was past 7:30, and her father still wasn't home. He wouldn't be home from drinking until at least midnight. That gave her plenty of time to talk to Detective Peterson and get home.

Sarah knocked on the door labeled "Detective Peterson". _Alright, remember what you were here for, she thought. Rose Dawson. Rose. Dawson. Ask for him to find her address._

A tall man with piercing blue eyes came to the door. She saw cigarette smoke coming out.. A cigarette was placed between his fingers. "Can I help you?"

"Yes, hi. I want you to track down someone for me," Sarah said, trying to control her shaky voice.

Detective Peterson looked at her young face. She couldn't be older than fifteen. He knew it wasn't a good idea to grant a minor's requests, but he let her in.

Sarah walked into his office. She suppressed a cough. It was obvious that he had been smoking a lot of the day.

"What can I do for you?" Detective Peterson asked, sitting in desk chair, feet propped up on the table.

Sarah sat down and crossed her legs. "I want you to find someone for me."

He reached for a piece of paper, then sat up properly. "Who do you want?"It's not who I want, it's who I need, she thought. But when she opened her mouth, her mind went blank. It was because she was nervous. She always forgot what to say when she was nervous.

"Rose Dawson," she said when she remembered. "I don't know where she is."

Detective Peterson chuckled. "That's why I'm a detective, little lady." He wrote down "Rose Dawson" on a sheet of paper. "Now, do you to pay for this?"

Sarah reached into her purse and pulled out some money.

"No, no, not now. I'm one of those people where you don't have to pay me until I actually work."

Sarah tucked the money back into her purse. She felt sick to her stomach with nervousness, fear, and excitement.. If Detective Peterson actually worked, that is.

"Why don't you come back next week?" he said. "I'll have something for you by then."

Sarah nodded and stood up. "Thank you for your time."

"No problem. You have a good day now."

"You, too," Sarah said.

Her thoughts swirled the instant she left Detective Peterson's office. What if he couldn't find her? What if he found the wrong woman? But mostly, she was scared for when he found the right Rose Dawson. Because she knew that nothing would ever be the same in her life.

A/N: Yes, I know that Rose isn't the mother. I am doing this for a reason, though! One you will see soon.


	5. April 15

**In this chapter, I tried to make Sarah a little more relatable to. Well, in the first part, at least.** **And let me just say, I hate Cal. He's selfish and arrogant and...I'm not going to waste your time. **

**By the way, no, this is not a Jack Alive fic. Sorry. Please don't hurt me!

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**

Sarah looked into the mirror on the back of her door. What she saw when she looked into it was Sarah Hockley, turning fifteen tomorrow, April 15th. For as long as she could remember, she was always the girl who's birthday was the day the Titanic sank. Most of her teachers knew someone who had died on the Titanic. It was usually an awkward day for her if that was the case.

When she looked in the mirror, she saw her thin brown hair cascading to a few inches below her delicate, beige shoulders. Her brown eyes were still bright with hope. Her delicate bone structure made her face beautiful and well put-together. She had her mother's lips, so said her father.

She wondered how much of her really resembled her mother, Rose Dawson.

Sarah's knee-skimming dress showed off her thinning legs. She was on a crash diet, determined to get the look that everyone else had. (A/N: Crash diets were very popular in the 1920s. The ideal look was a more boyish figure: no curves). Everything was now getting tinier around her, except her bust. She knew she would do anything to get the look, but she was not going to kill herself trying to do it.

She sighed and sat on her bed, crossing her legs. Everything was stressing her out right now. Her father never being home was one cause of it, although that was nothing new. He hadn't really ever been home with her. There were one or two days out of the week where he wasn't selfish and he would stay home with her, usually the weekends. But even when he was home that didn't please her. He was still a selfish man.

Her mother was stressing her out, too. How could someone just do that to their child? She wished that her mother would have had the courtesy to take her with, rather than leave her with her father. The more she thought about her parents, the angrier she got. They were both terrible parents.

She was supposed to go see Detective Peterson in two days and get the information on her mother. Sarah knew she would have to start planning when to go and see her.

The other thing stressing her out? This crash diet. It was making her week and unable to focus. Every hour that went by, she felt like she was going to faint if she didn't get something in her.

She'd have _something_ for her birthday tomorrow. Just a piece of cake so her father wouldn't suspect anything was wrong with her.

Sarah laid down and closed her eyes. _All will be better tomorrow morning_, she thought.

* * *

Cal staggered into his home the early morning of his daughter's birthday. He entered the living room and sat down temporarily on the couch to regain his balance.

Through the moonlight, he could barely see the time on the grandfather clock. It read 2:20.

Cal thought back to fifteen years ago today, how the Titanic was fully sinking. He was on a boat with a little girl who he had to pretend was his daughter. Rose was somewhere in the ocean with Jack, dying of hypothermia. The only thing that he was unsure of was if they actually did die.

_Wait_, he thought. _April 15th. Sarah's birthday. She's fifteen now. She's growing up too fast. She's going to be better than Rose. At least this one actually listens to me._

He wasn't sure how long he could live with lying to Sarah that she wasn't his daughter. He couldn't tell her. If Cal knew anything about her, he knew that she would run away. The news headline the next day would be "Fifteen-year-old Runaway Found Dead In Brooklyn Bay."

_That best be one secret I keep to my grave_, he thought, heading up the stairs.

* * *

The evening rolled around. Sarah went downstairs where Cal had set out a cake, with fifteen candles on it. Just the sight of cake made her stomach growl. Chocolate frosting, probably a chocolate filling...oh, she could barely wait.

Now came the wish time. Sarah closed her eyes, made her wish and blew out all fifteen candles in one breath.

Cal chuckled. "That a girl. When you were little, you had the loudest screams ever. Slept all day and was up all night."

Sarah sat down at the dining room while Cal cut her a piece.

"There you go, sweet pea." Cal handed her a piece. "Happy birthday."

_Does it _have _to be sweet pea?_ Sarah thought. _Couldn't it be sweetheart or pumpkin?_

She picked up a fork and began eating. It felt so good to actually eat something. She felt like she owed it to herself, even if that meant the crash diet would last a little longer.

Cal started eating a piece of cake, then pulled a jewelry box out of his pocket. "Here, Sarah. This is for you."

Sarah ran her hands over the black velvet of the rectangle box. "Dad, you didn't have to get me anything."

"I just wanted to show you how much I love you. That's all," Cal said.

Sarah opened it, revealing a golden necklace with a golden heart pendant. "Dad," she whispered.

"It's your golden birthday, sweet pea. I thought you deserved something nice."

"No, I mean...this is incredible. Thank you." She took it out of the box and put it around her neck. She touched the pendant.

Everything was too calm. Sarah could just sense that something was going to happen. Something bad. Very bad.


	6. Shooting

**Thank you all for the reviews! I'm sorry that I've been so lazy about putting that part in. Thank you!!

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**

Sarah picked up her school books and walked to the living room. She saw her father looking out the window, hands clasped behind his back. He looked serious. Maybe sad. Sarah couldn't be sure.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked.

Cal turned around. "Oh, nothing, sweet pea," he said. _Nothing of your concern at least_, he thought.

"Oh. You just looked like you were thinking about something."

"I was. Nothing of importance, though."

Sarah shifted her books in her hands. "I have to get school. I'll see you tonight."

_Tonight_. She made the mistake saying that. She knew that he wouldn't come home tonight. He'd be out drinking brandy or whisky and smoking cigars.

Cal nodded and pulled Sarah into a hug, kissing her forehead. "I'll see you tonight, Sarah."

She nodded and turned away, towards the foyer.

"Sweet pea?" Cal called.

Sarah turned around. "Yes?"

Cal was standing in the entryway to the living room. "I love you."

Sarah nodded. "I love you, too."

"Just remember that, alright?"

Something was not normal. The only problem was Sarah didn't know what was going on. Instead of asking questions and being late to school, she just nodded. "I will."

Cal smiled sadly. "Goodbye, Sarah."

* * *

Sarah was right. Her father wasn't coming home for the night. It was 7:00. She could practically see him sitting in a smoky bar, drinking and smoking to his heart's content, not even thinking about the effects that might have on other people.

_Like me_, Sarah thought. _Sure, he claims he loves me, but I'll bet he doesn't. He just says it because he thinks I'm naive._

Sarah walked to Detective Peterson's building. A block after leaving her home, she heard a gunshot. It sounded like it was a few blocks away. She jumped, her heart racing. She looked around her, just to make sure someone wasn't shooting at her.

She ran to the building, not looking once behind her. Her heart was still beating as fast as it could be. She was worried that someone might jump out with a gun at her.

In the alley behind Detective Peterson's building, she saw a group of police officers crouched over a man.

"I think he shot himself," one officer said.

"Yes, he did. See, gun in his hand, pulled the trigger, went through his head, the guy dies," the other officer said.

"Any identification on him?" the other asked.

"I'll search."

She couldn't understand what they were saying after that. But instead of spying, she decided to go attend to more important matters.

Sarah continued walking and entered the detective agency. She went down the hallway to the door that read "Detective Peterson." She knocked on it and was greeted by the same man, along with a thin cloud of smoke.

"I think a man was just shot outside your building, Detective," Sarah said.

"I know," Detective Peterson said.

Silence.

"You know?" she asked.

"Yes. I saw him put the gun to his head."

"Shouldn't you have tried to stop him?"

"Miss Hockley, there's not much a person can do when one sees a man about to kill himself. You can't call out to him and say that that's wrong. Their mind is all messed up. Hell, they could shoot at you, kill you _and_ them. All you can do is hope they end up in a better place."

Sarah looked out the window and saw that they were covering the man up in a body bag. She wondered who that was, who all was going to be affected by it, why he chose what he did. What could have made a person think there was no way out?

"I have your information about your mother," Detective Peterson said, handing her a file.

Sarah held it in her hands. "Thank you." She paused. "Can I stay here for a while? I mean, no one's home, and I'm a little shook up. I heard a gunshot before I got here. I think it was him. The man in the alley."

He gestured to the chair. "Stay as long as you want, little lady."

Sarah sat in it and looked through the files of her mother. Rose Dawson. Thirty-two years old. Lives in Boston, Massachusetts. 627 Drew Lane.

"There were a few other Rose Dawsons, but they all were fifty and older, so I'm assuming this is your mother," Detective Peterson said.

Sarah nodded. She felt a chill go through her body. She wasn't sure how she was going to sneak out without her father's permission. During the summer, once school was out, she would say that she was going to stay at a friend's house for a while.

She saw that the longer she stayed talking with Detective Peterson, the sky grew darker and darker. She thanked him again for finding her mother, then left.

The cool air swirled around her body as she left Detective Peterson's office. She hugged the folder of her mother close to her, in an effort to try to keep her warm. She looked down the same alley that the man that had killed himself just an hour ago. No one was there. It was like the incident never even happened.

Sarah walked briskly home. She knew it was unsafe to be walking around at this time of the night alone, especially being a young woman.

She saw a man standing at the doorway of her home. She hesitantly kept walking, her footsteps getting lighter. The closer she came to the man, she saw that he was a young police officer, a man of maybe twenty years of age.

She walked up the stairs and to the porch. She tucked a piece of brown hair behind her ears. "Can I help you?" she asked.

"Yes. You live here, correct?" the officer asked.

"Yes. Is there a problem?" Sarah asked.

"What's your relation to a Caledon Hockley?"

"Cal Hockley? He's...he's my father. Why do you ask?"

The police officer let out an exhale. "Miss Hockley, I'm terribly sorry to be the one to tell you this. But, your father...he died."

Sarah blinked in disbelief. "Excuse me?"

"We found him dead near Peterson Detective Agency this evening at around 7:15. We believe he committed suicide. He shot himself in the head."

Sarah started breathing heavily. The lump in her throat hurt more and more. She felt tears coming out of her eyes.

Her own father. Dead. Committed suicide. Those words together just didn't make sense. She was convinced that they had gone to the wrong house, that her father wasn't really dead.

Sarah started sobbing. She felt like an idiot doing it in front of the policeman who just told her.

"Miss Hockley, I'm so sorry. If I can be in assistance in any way--"

Sarah opened the door and slammed it behind her. She locked it just for good riddance.

The words swimming in her mind still felt empty to her, like they belonged to another person. Someone else's father committed suicide by shooting himself in the head tonight. But not her father. No. No, he wouldn't do that.

She leaned against the door and cried some more. She slowly sank down to the ground, her body hunched over.

Suddenly, the thought of him going out for brandies and cigars didn't seem as bad now.

**Okay, I have no idea what you guys are going to think of this ending. I would love it if you told me what you thought, though!**


	7. Not Even A Note

**I'm sorry I had to kill Cal off! But you'll see where this is going, I swear. Thank you for the reviews!

* * *

**

Sarah laid in her bed, her eyes closed. She had been awake for about an hour. She didn't bother to open her eyes, though. They would be burned by the sunlight.

She could feel her eyes stinging already. Her head hurt from crying last night. She didn't know how long she was crying, and she didn't really care.

Time was just a word to Sarah now. To her, a minute seemed like an hour. And an hour...well, it would stretch forever, almost to taunt her.

_Shut up_, Sarah would think to the clock, even though it could not say anything and it was an inanimate object.

She dared to open her eyes. She knew she should have kept them shut. They were sore, obviously from the crying. She sat up and rubbed her head.

Her father definitely wasn't home. He would have heard him walking around by now. And judging by the sun, he would have gotten her up by now if he _was _here.

The silence in the house made last night come back to her. Her father, Caledon Hockley, dead. She knew that was the same person that shot himself in the alley near Peterson Detective Agency. She just knew. It sent a chill up her spine to see her father dead and not even realize it. And Detective Peterson...he could have stopped it!

That's why her father was acting strange yesterday morning. _That's _why he said that he loved her and to remember it. And her last words to him? "I will."

Sarah got up and stretched. She was in the same blue dress that she was in yesterday. She hadn't bothered to change her clothes. After learning about her father's death, she went straight to bed. Actually, she cried herself to sleep before going to bed.

Why did he do it? Why did he have to commit suicide? What could possibly have made him so sad that he had to kill himself and leave Sarah behind with nothing but memories?

_He could at least have left a final note_, Sarah thought. She looked on the dining room table to see if there was a note. Nothing.

Sarah knew that this was the way he always was. Before she was even born, it was always about him, him, him. He never thought about anyone else. Just as long as he profited that was all that mattered.

She touched her necklace that she got just two days ago from her father. She wondered how long he had been planning this. Was he drunk when he did it? Maybe it was accidental. Maybe someone shot him.

She wouldn't let herself think that way. No. No one would be evil enough to shoot her father. But he was evil enough himself to take his own life.

_Nothing says "I love you" like committing suicide_, Sarah thought bitterly. _Love me, did you? Well then why did you do this to yourself? To _me

Sarah felt another lump in her throat. She wasn't going to let it surface agin. She went to her bedroom and looked through the folder labeled "Rose Dawson."

She pulled out her suitcase and started stuffing clothes into it. Everything she could fit into the suitcase was going with her. There was only one person she could go to now, and that was Rose Dawson.

**Oh, my, whatever will happen next?! You'll just have to wait and see, won't you? Mwahahaha!**


	8. One Last Time

**Sorry it took me a while to update. I couldn't quite find how to word this chapter. I hope this is good enough for you all. Thank you for the reviews! I love you guys! **

I thought that Avril Lavigne's "Nobody's Home" fit this chapter really well. No, I don't own it, by the way.

* * *

With all the money that she could find safely tucked in her purse and a suitcase filled with clothing, Sarah stood in line for a train ticket to Boston. She took in a deep breath and slowly released in. Even though her feet were on the ground, her mind was elsewhere. It was with her father. Was he in the morgue right now? Or was he being put in a casket already?

Sarah didn't want to focus on that. She didn't want to come to terms with her father dying. Right now she just needed to get out of Brooklyn, put all this behind her.

She felt like she could get out of Brooklyn now. Her father would be buried in England, with the rest of his family. Sarah knew that she wasn't capable of planning a funeral. She was too young, and besides, it was her own father.

She moved up the line and bought her ticket. In her hands lay freedom. She was tingling with nerves and excitement at once.

She got on the train and found her spot, nestling into the seat. She put her head against the window.

As soon as Sarah had her big, brown eyes shut, her mind immediately snapped back to her father. Through closed eyes, she could feel tears welling up.

_What, five minutes ago you were excited to meet your mother, and now you're about to cry?_ she thought to herself. _What is wrong with you?_

_My father's dead_, she replied back mentally. _I _am _allowed mourning, aren't I?_

Sarah knew she was now mentally fighting with herself. One step towards insanity. She squeezed her eyes shut tighter. She felt tears attaching to her long eyelashes.

"Ya alright there, sweetheart?" a woman asked.

Sarah opened her eyes. Her vision was a little blurry from the tears that were welled up. She wiped what little there was on her cheeks away. "I'm fine."

The woman sat next to her. "Ya don't look fine."

"No, no, I am," Sarah lied. "Really."

The woman gave her a glance. "Margaret Brown. Molly for short."

"Sarah. Sarah Hockley."

Hockley. Just that last name meant everything to Sarah now. It was the only thing that she had left of her father.

"Hockley," Molly mused. "That name sounds familiar."

Sarah felt the lump in her throat again. She was sick of feeling like she was going to break down at any time.

"Hockley...gol, I know I've heard that name before," Molly continued.

"Mrs. Brown, please stop," Sarah said softly. "I'm sorry, I'm just having a really bad day."

"Mrs. Brown, please stop," Sarah said softly. "I'm sorry, I'm just having a really bad day. I'm not in the mood for talking."

"Somethin' buggin' ya, darlin'?" she asked.

Sarah looked over at the large woman sitting next to her. Her wild blue eyes had the best of intentions, but she just was a bit persistent about how to get people to talk. She played with the hem of her brown dress, stopping just at her knees.

_Do you _think _something's bugging me?_ she thought.

She felt the train start to move below her. She saw people with suitcases rushing past, trying to get to their own train

Sarah didn't know what came over her, but she got up and ran to the back of the car, past people's seats. They looked at her like she was crazy, but Sarah had little time to notice or care. She ran to the conjoining car of the first and second class and leaned against the wall. Just like last night, she allowed herself to sink down and cry.

All Sarah wanted to do was have her life go back to normal. Go back home. Have her father there, alive and well. Even to hear him say "sweet pea" one more time would make her feel like the luckiest girl on the planet.

She was now crying so hard that she was worried she might throw up. She could hardly catch her breath. Her face was red, her brown eyes puffy and red. She didn't know what to do now. How was she supposed to keep going on with life when the only thing she knew and trusted was gone forever?

Sarah let out a small whimper as she curled up in a ball. She was still sitting up, even though she would rather have been laying on the floor doing this. Nothing felt more uninviting than the bright sun streaming through the clean windows of the train. She wanted darkness where no one could see her vulnerable.

But, of course, Molly Brown, being the nosy woman she was, had to check on Sarah to see where she was. Molly was quiet for several minutes before crouching down and saying, "Sweetheart?"

Sarah looked up, sniffled, and wiped her eyes. "My dad died last night," she said softly.

She wants to go home

But nobody's home

It's where she lies

Broken inside

With no place to go

No place to dry her eyes

Broken inside


	9. An April Shower

**Thank you for the reviews! Yes, I know I say that a lot, but I appreciate them. You guys keep me going!

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**

Sarah woke up the next morning. She wasn't sure at first at where she was, but when she opened her eyes, she saw Molly sleeping in the seat next to her.

She was sure she had slept late after her breakdown last night. She felt like she was two years old again when Molly had to ask her why she was crying. Then she proceeded to feel like a one-year-old when Molly was holding her and Sarah was clinging to her.

_She's a good lady_, Sarah thought. _I owe her something._

Sarah rubbed her eyes and pulled out the folder of Rose again. She still wasn't sure how she was going to find her mother. She thought of just asking people where Drew Lane was, but she factored in the possibility that it wasn't near the train station.

"Whatcha lookin' at there?" Molly asked.

Sarah closed her folder and put it under her seat again. "Nothing." She brushed a strand of dark brown hair out of her eyes. "Thank you for helping me last night, Mrs. Brown. I'm very grateful for what you did."

Molly smiled sadly. "Not a problem, little lady. How are you doin' today?"

"Considering the circumstances, I'm alright, I think," Sarah said. "I'm still sad, of course, but I might be a little better than a couple of days ago."

Molly nodded. "What are you goin' to Boston for?"

"Oh, um, family. No one else in Brooklyn. What are you going to Boston for?"

"Just a short trip away from the family. Been stressin' me out a little."

_At least you have family_, Sarah thought. _Right now I would give anything to have family stressing me out._

Sarah looked out the window. The cloudy skies above her threatened rain at any moment. She hoped she wasn't going to be wet the first time that she had seen her mother in fourteen and a half years.

In the far distance, she could see the buildings of Boston. Sarah's heart started beating faster with anticipation and nerves.

Molly must have seen her looking sort of nervous because she said, "Don't worry, darlin'. Everything'll be alright."

_Yes, maybe everything _will_ be alright_, Sarah thought.

* * *

Sarah had her suitcase in one hand and the folder containing her mother in the other hand. She made her way through the train station. Before her lay the bustling city of Boston. On a Tuesday evening, everyone was just getting home from a long day at work.

It dawned on Sarah that maybe this wasn't the best time to see her mother. She was bound to be tired. She thought that maybe she should have waited until the weekend. But she knew it was now or never if she wanted to do this.

Sarah walked up to a man just passing by the train station. "Excuse me, sir--" she said. But he walked right past her.

She tried another man. "Excuse me, but--"

Yet another one that ignored her.

She sighed and walked up to a young woman with blonde hair pinned back and wearing a blue dress. "Excuse me, miss, but you wouldn't happen to know where Drew Lane is, would you?"

The woman's light blue eyes met Sarah's gaze. "Drew Lane? In Boston?"

Sarah nodded. "627 Drew Lane, to be exact."

"Oh, I know where that is. Here, let me walk you there. It's not too far from here."

Sarah let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you so much."

The woman guided Sarah through the passing people. She looked at the new atmosphere now known as Boston.

"My name's Sarah," she said loudly enough so she could be heard over the engines of passing cars and trains. "I'm here for family."

"Oh," the woman said. "Just a visit?"

"Yes," Sarah lied. "A quick one." _But not painless_, she thought.

On their walk to Rose's house, Sarah and the woman she met, who later identified herself as Amy, talked the whole time. Amy told Sarah that she had been a girl of only five when she was on the Titanic when it sank. She was rescued by a man who lied to be her father only to save himself. **(A/N: That's supposed to be Cal.)**

The two of them stopped in front of a small white house with a picket fence and a clothesline in the front. Sarah's heart pounded as she realized that this was it. No turning back now.

"Thank you, Amy. It was fascinating talking to you," Sarah said.

"Oh, not a problem. I hope you have a good time with your family," Amy replied.

We'll see about fun, Sarah thought. Instead she said, "I will. Thank you again."

She unlatched the white fence and walked up the short walkway to the door. She climbed the stairs and took a deep breath in of rain-scented air. She could hear thunder rumbling above her.

Sarah knocked on the front door. She felt she didn't need to do that, since she was positive that Rose could hear her heartbeat from the inside of the house.

A woman with fiery red hair and porcelain skin answered the door, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. "Can I help you?"

She felt the rain start to come down on her. For one of the only times in her life, Sarah was speechless. All she could do was stand on the front porch, getting wet with the April rainshower. She was absolutely positive she looked ridiculous.

"Hi, my name's Sarah," she said when she found her voice. "Can I talk to you?"

**Ooooh, a cliffhanger! I always love to hear feedback...**


	10. Become A Dawson

**Sorry to have kept you all waiting like that with the cliffhanger and whatnot! I had to make it a little bit more exciting somehow. Seriously though, you guys, thank you so much for the reviews. I love them! I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

Rose looked blankly at Sarah. Sarah knew that she shouldn't have done this when there was no response and she was getting more and more wet by the second.

She started slightly shivering in the cool rain. Her arms were cold (but that was also because it was a mid-April evening).

_So she's just going to make me stand out here? _she thought.

"Come in," Rose said, stepping aside.

Sarah gratefully walked into her house. It was definitely small. She expected to see a man sitting in the chair, reading the paper or something of the sorts. But, no. No Jack Dawson that Rose had run away with.

Rose gave her blanket. Sarah wrapped herself in the old quilt that smelled a little like old perfume.

"I apologize for making you wait out there so long," Rose said. "I just figured that if you were selling something and I looked at you long enough you'd go away." Her navy blue eyes trailed to Sarah's suitcase. "You're not selling anything are you?"

"Oh. Um, no."

_Idiot! _Sarah thought. _Try and sound a little less stupid!_

Sarah tried to recover by being quiet. She finally saw where she got her looks from. The thin, brown hair was obviously her father's, as well as a pair of chocolate brown eyes to go with. Her skin tone was from her father, too. But she got her big eyes from her mother. And her small nose...she was sure it was from a grandparent. Sarah shared her bone structure from both of her parents. And her lips, just as her father said, was from her mother.

The silence in the room was deafening. Sarah looked down at the hardwood floors. She knew the hard part was coming soon.

"What can I help you with?" Rose asked.

Sarah's heart sped up even more. It was now past healthy levels.

"My name's Sarah. Sarah Hockley," she said.

She saw Rose's face stiffen. She brushed a piece of hair out of her eye. "That's funny. I used to know a man named Cal Hockley."

"I'll bet you did," she said quietly, wrapping the blanket closer around her. She was starting to shiver again, but not because of coldness that time.

Rose leaned forward slightly. "I beg your pardon?"

"I'll bet you know Cal," she repeated.

Rose's entrancing blue eyes met Sarah's equally beautiful brown ones. Sarah tried to keep her gaze, even though she found it difficult.

"What do you mean by that, Miss Hockley?" she asked.

"Oh, please don't act like you don't know!" Sarah blurted out. "You abandoned us when I was five months old! And for someone who isn't even here anymore!"

Silence shattered the room. That was beginning to get very familiar with her and Rose already. Long, harsh silences.

Rose's eyes looked at her curiously. "What are you talking about?"

"Y-You are Rose Dawson, right?" Sarah asked.

"Yes," Rose said slowly.

Sarah's eyes started filling with tears again. "How could you do that? I'm your daughter!"

Rose only stared at her again. "I don't have a daughter."

"Yes, you do! She's sitting here right in front of you wanting to know why you left her with a father who just committed suicide and why you had to leave us for Jack Dawson!"

Silence again. This time the tables were turned. Rose's eyes were the ones filled with hurt.

_Maybe I've said too much_, Sarah thought. _I shouldn't have added Jack Dawson in yet._

"Sarah, how do you know about Jack?" Rose asked.

"My father told me. He said you ran off with him when I was five months old. It was nearly a war in the house."

Rose sighed. Sarah saw something change in her eyes, almost like a revelation. "Why don't you sleep here for the night? It's raining and I'm sure you won't want to go to a hotel for the night."

Sarah was about to refuse and demand an answer to all of those questions, but she knew that it was pointless. She wouldn't get an answer just like she hadn't before.

Sarah followed Rose up the narrow stairs. They creaked softly below her.

_I'd rather be at home then take in shelter from my mother_, Sarah thought. But then she remembered how lonely it was and all the bad memories that had formed there. _Maybe not_, she thought.

Rose led her into a neatly made guest bedroom with a small bed near a window. The ceiling was slanted towards the closet. She was sure that she could touch the ceiling at the smallest point.

"Thank you," she said softly.

"If you need anything, I'll be downstairs," Rose said, closing the door behind her.

* * *

Rose remembered how she looked on the Titanic. Or, at least she tried to remember how she might have looked like. If she had any guess as to what she might have looked like, Sarah was a good match. When Sarah walked in, she was wet, and her eyes were large, almost like she was afraid for the unexpected to happen.

Why had Cal told her that Sarah was her child? She would never know the mind of him, nor would she want to. But whatever the reason was, this sounded exactly like something that he would do. Because it was always about him. Always would be, too.

Sarah's voice rang through her head. _She's sitting here right in front of you wanting to know why you left her with a father who just committed suicide and..._

_Wait_, Rose thought. _She said that he committed suicide?_

Yet again, exactly the type of thing he would do.

When Sarah started talking, she was reminded of someone she knew a long time ago. Someone she was very close to, who was her best friend and who told her to listen to her gut instinct and never look back on it twice. It made her do the craziest things, even though it didn't make sense.

That person was herself.

_...why you had to leave us for Jack Dawson!_ Sarah's voice yelled into her head again.

Oh, how she had hit the soft spot with Jack. It took everything in her not to tell her what Jack really was. He was not some man she had run off with. No, Jack was more than that. He was her first love and the only person she could trust when no one would even consider listening to her. How she had longed to see him just one more time...

She closed her eyes as she curled up in her bed. What a stressful day tomorrow would be.

There was no way that Rose could tell Sarah that she wasn't her daughter. She was the absolute perfect match of both Cal and Rose.

_This is what our child would have looked like if I had been Cal's slave_, she thought. _If we got married, I really would have left him. Only I would have taken our child with. No one deserves to be with him._

She felt sorry that Sarah had to put up with Cal for all those years. She was scarred before his death, and now she was even more tramautized afterwards. Of course Sarah was bound to be a little angry at people. And Cal's lies most certainly weren't helping.

Rose couldn't help but like Sarah. She knew how it was to be screaming in a silent room and have no one even looking up. That was what it was like when Cal owned her. She couldn't imagine that being the only thing she knew.

It was clear to Rose what she had to do. Tomorrow she would take Sarah back to Boston and have her get her things. She was about to become a Dawson.


	11. A Million Miles Away

**Longer chapter. Maybe my longest one yet.

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**

Sarah couldn't remember where she was as she woke up the next morning. She stirred in the small bed as she opened her eyes and saw a cloudy sky. She froze when she remembered that she was in Rose's house. But she felt her heart stop when she remembered what she had said last night. She wondered how she could be so stupid with her mouth.

Sarah pulled the covers over her eyes. "No," she whined to herself, desperately wanting to redo what she had said to Rose. It wasn't exactly the best impression to give her estranged mother.

_She's probably thinking Dad raised me exactly how she thought he would_, Sarah thought._ She probably thinks I'm a brat._

She figured there was no use trying to turn back time and undo the impossible. She got up and went downstairs, using her fingers as a comb. Her brown hair was messy and her eyes were half-open.

"Good morning," she heard Rose say from the kitchen as soon as she reached the foot of the stairs.

Sarah was now completely awake, thanks to the jolt of fear that rushed through her body. She walked into the kitchen and sat across from Rose and the table. Rose had a cup of tea in her hand. One with steam was in Sarah's spot.

She blew on it, then sipped quietly. She could feel Rose's eyes boring into her skull.

"I'm sorry," Sarah said. "I shouldn't have said all that last night. I was just angry at what you did to me and I know that this probably isn't exactly the best way to meet you for the first time in fourteen and a half years, but..."

"It's fine," Rose said simply.

Sarah could have sworn she misheard. Was Rose actually saying that everything was okay between them? No, she must have been going crazy.

"What?" Sarah asked.

"It's fine. I mean, you are going to be living with me, right? We need to be on solid ground."

"Living...with you?" she squeaked out.

"Well, yes. Who are you going to be living with, otherwise? If I remember right, everyone on your father's side is in England. Correct?"

"Um...yes?"

"Then it's settled. You're going to be living with me."

Silence grew yet again between them. Sarah looked down at her tea. The light brown liquid was still. She could feel the heat of it through the cup.

"I don't want you doing this out of pity for me, Mum," Sarah said.

Mum. It was a new word on her lips. She had never called anyone that before.

"I'm not. I've been doing a rather poor job at being a mother, haven't I?"

Sarah's eyes still didn't meet her's. "Well, you weren't there." _But this _is _my father we're talking about. If I had the chance, I'd have runaway, too._

"But I intend on being there from now, Sarah. We'll go back to wherever it is you live now and we'll get your things. You can live upstairs with me. It's a new beginning now. Leave everything behind."

"Today, you mean? We're leaving for Brooklyn today?"

Rose nodded. "As soon as you want to go. We'll have to stop at my work and tell them I won't be there for today or tomorrow, though, first."

Sarah was still in shock. "That's fine," she said quietly.

* * *

Sarah held the key in her hand as she walked back up the steps to her familiar home in Brooklyn. Only it didn't seem as inviting as it once had. It was now decorated with the horrible memories that she had thought about on the train ride when Rose was quiet.

Each time she remembered her father raised his voice or left her home alone each night, she winced. But when the biggest of them all, the day she found out that he killed himself, that made her start crying again. She only did this while Rose was sleeping. She hoped she was never heard.

Sarah took a deep breath in as she got on the porch. "I don't know if I can do this, Mum. I'm scared."

Rose was quiet. Sarah knew his would be a little awkward if she started breaking down. It was awkward to begin with. She knew that Rose had despised her father after all these years, and now to be in his house...

Sarah didn't want to go back in. Everything would remind her of _him_. Everything she saw, his bedroom, his favorite chair, everything.

"Mum--"

"You can do this, Sarah," she said. "If you just do it quickly it will all be over. You'll never have to come here again."

_Right_, she thought, slipping the key in the lock. _That's about the only positive right now._

Sarah walked into her house. How she had wanted to see her father by the window, saying it was all just a dream, even though half the time she hated him. She just wanted something she never had: security.

"This seems like something your father would live in. Always nothing but the best with him," she heard Rose say behind her.

Sarah nodded. She felt like she was a million miles away from everything.

"I'm going to go get my things," Sarah said, walking to her bedroom.

She quickly packed her things. She realized this would be the last time that she would be in here. After this, she was living in Boston with Rose. No more big, glamorous house owned by her millionaire father. Now it would be a small house with the mother she hardly knew.

After getting everything packed – which took a while – she checked her father's bedroom one last time. No note whatsoever.

She knew there had to be something. She put her suitcases down and searched through his drawers. His shirts that were once neatly put there were every which way. At the very bottom of the top drawer, there was a folder. She picked it up and sat on the bed. She opened it. Inside was a note from her father dated April 16. The exact day that her father died.

"Oh my God," she whispered as she read it.

_Sarah,_

_I'm sorry that I did what I did. Don't think I love you. I do, sweet pea. Really. There is so many things I wish I could have told you before I went. But I know you would have hated me if I told you the truth about everything. I'm sorry you had to find out this way._

_Dad_

"What?" Sarah asked out loud as she reread the note. She set the note aside and saw her name on a form from St. Katherine's Orphanage. Below it was a form that her father had filled out on September 17, 1912.

_No, this can't be for me_, she thought.

She stared at the paper the paper for probably five minutes. She remained motionless. Cal was not her father. And he filed as a single parent. Which meant Rose couldn't be her mother. Which meant that both of them had lied.

She walked out to the living room where Rose was looking in the newspaper. "Sarah, I found your father's obituary. Do you want me to cut it out for you?"

"He's not my father," she said angrily. "I was adopted. And where do you come in to play, Miss Dawson? Please don't tell me you're my birth mother, because ironically, that's the last thing I need to hear right now."

Rose stared at her again. "I was wondering when you were going to find that out."

"You knew?!" Sarah asked. "When were you going to tell me?"

She folded the paper up. "You just seemed so upset last night that I couldn't tell you. I'm sorry, Sarah. It's--"

"All Cal's fault," Sarah said, putting the folder on the dining table. "It's not your's at all. You're...You're nice, Miss Dawson. My father, he committed suicide, all because he didn't want to find out. He left a note, after all." She handed Rose the note.

Rose quickly read it. "Just like him."

Sarah nodded in agreement. "That unimaginable bastard."

Silence between them again. Sarah was trying her hardest not to scream to the heavens, asking why this happened.

"Can I still live with you?" she asked.

* * *

"Tell me everything," Sarah said to Rose, once they were seated on the train. Sarah had the window seat, while Rose was sitting next to her on the aisle one.

"What do you mean?" Rose asked.

"About your life. If I'm going to be living with you, I believe I need to know a few things about you," Sarah said.

Rose started talking about her early life, where she went to finishing school, and how her own father passed away when she was seventeen. "And that's why I got engaged to your father," she said. "All our money was gone. My mother reminded me of it everyday. Even while I was getting dressed. 'You know the money's gone, Rose,' she used to say."

"Don't call him that. He's not my father. He's Cal." She ran her fingers through her hair. "That must have been awful growing up with your mother like that."

Rose nodded. "She said women's choices were never easy. And I never thought that Cal could be the man he turned out to be. It didn't show at first much, but he made it clear that I was his and no one else's."

"What do you mean?" Sarah asked.

"This didn't really show until we were on board Titanic--"

"You were on Titanic?" Sarah interrupted.

"Yes. The best and worst days of my life."

Sarah was automatically intrigued. "What do you mean?"

Rose sighed. "It's a long story."

"Miss Dawson, this is a train ride from Brooklyn to Boston. We have all the time in the world."

Rose smiled. "Sarah, it's Rose. And...I'll tell you the story of Titanic."

Sarah returned the smile.

"I was engaged to your – I mean, Cal, at the time. I was set to be Mrs. Rose Hockley. I was only marrying for money, of course."

Sarah nodded.

Rose told about her attempted suicide afterwards. "I felt a lot like you. Screaming in a dead silent room when no one would even look up."

"What...how do you know I feel like that?"

"You lived with him for fifteen years. I just guessed you felt the same way."

She was right. That was how she felt her whole life. Her father would never consider listening to one idea that she had had.

"Who saved you, though?" Sarah asked.

"Jack Dawson. You jump, I jump. Oh, he was a wonderful man."

Sarah gave her a questioning look. "You jump, I jump?" she repeated.

"It's what he said when I was about to jump overboard. How he would go in after me. I mean, he and I were complete strangers. And why he did that, I'll never know."

Silence. Sarah couldn't help but look out the window.

"Can you tell me the story of Jack Dawson now?" she asked.

Rose told the tale of Jack. How she had longed for him, even though she was Cal's. What lengths she went to only to talk to him for two minutes. What great lengths they had gone in the short amount of time that they had known each other. She continued to tell where they were when they saw the iceberg hit Titanic. How scared she was when it was going down, how cold the icy water was. All the time, Sarah was wide-eyed with fascination.

"Rose...that's an amazing story," she whispered.

"Yes. But he was an amazing man. He deserves an amazing story." She sighed. "And he saved my life. Other than when I was about to jump overboard."

"What do you mean?"

Rose eyes diverted to the floor. "That one's for another day."

Sarah couldn't help but feel curious as to what she had meant. She knew not to interrogate, though.

"I think that so romantic that you took his last name when you docked," Sarah said.

"I owed it to him. I mean...I loved him. I felt married to him.. He was the best thing that ever happened to me."

_I hope I find a love like that one day,_ Sarah thought.


	12. My Heart Will Go On

**-Sigh- I don't own "My Heart Will Go On." Obviously. I'm not Celine Dion.

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Rose sat down with a pen and paper in hand again in her bed. She knew that she needed to write a new song for the cabaret soon. Plus being gone for two days on account of Sarah, she knew she would really have to write a stellar one.

Sarah came into the room and sat on Rose's bed next to her. "What are you doing?"

"Writing a song," Rose replied. "Or attempting to at least."

Sarah pondered. "Write one about Jack."

"I've done that before."

"Was it a love song? Saying how you'll love him forever?"

Rose nodded.

"Have you ever tried one about moving on?"

Rose was quiet, drumming her pencil against the paper. "Sort of."

"What do you mean by 'sort of'?"

"Well, I attempted. It didn't work out the way I wanted it to. It was five months after he died."

Sarah took the paper and pencil from her and wrote at the top "My Heart Will Go On."

Rose looked at it and remembered that that was the same title that she had tried the first time around, fourteen and a half years ago. Except this time, she felt capable of writing this. If Sarah seemed stable after only a week after her guardian's passing, she felt like she could write a song about the man she used to love.

Rose pulled her into a hug. "Thank you, Sarah."

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When Rose was gone most of the remainder of the week, Sarah was reminded of what used to be with Cal. If this situation had happened two weeks ago, she would have felt alone and tortured, but this time Sarah understood. Rose was busy working at the cabaret putting together "My Heart Will Go On" with the flute player. Actually, Sarah liked the quiet now. It wasn't as uninviting as it used to be. 

Tonight, Rose was to debut "My Heart Will Go On" at Richard's. Sarah sat in the back at a table by herself. She saw Rose getting on stage. She looked scared. Rose took a deep breath in and out, then said, when she had everyone's attention, "I want to dedicate this song to Jack and Sarah. I couldn't have written this without either of you. I love you both tremendously."

Sarah smiled and applauded with the other people. "You can do this, Rose," she whispered.

The flute player started playing the opening. Sarah couldn't imagine how nervous Rose was. She knew how hard this was for her to write. She helped her with it. But when she started singing, she actually seemed relaxed.

_Every night in my dreams I see you, I feel you_

_That is how I know you go on._

_Far across the distance and spaces between us_

_You have come to show you go on._

_Near, far, wherever you are_

_I believe that the heart does go on._

_Once more, you open the door_

_And you're here in my heart,_

_And my heart will go on and on_

_Love can touch us one time and last for a lifetime,_

_And never let go till we're gone._

_Love was when I loved you, one true time I hold to_

_In my life we'll always go on_

_Near, far, wherever you are,_

_I believe that the heart does go on._

_Once more, you open the door_

_And you're here in my heart,_

_And my heart will go on and on._

_You're here, there's nothing I fear,_

_And I know that my heart will go on._

_We'll stay forever this way,_

_You are safe in my heart,_

_And my heart will go on and on_.

The crowd started clapping. Sarah stood up from her chair, beaming, clapping the loudest of them all.

"Good job, Rose!" a man with blonde hair beside her yelled, possibly clapping louder than Sarah.

Sarah smiled and looked over at him. "You liked her, huh?"

The man quickly stopped clapping and looked a bit scared. "You can see me?"

She nodded. "What's your name?"

Before he had a chance to answer, Rose came up to Sarah. The next singer was taking the stage for a few songs, so she had the chance to talk with Sarah. She hugged Rose tightly. "Rose, that was amazing!"

Sarah could hear the smile in her voice as she said, "Thank you. I couldn't have done it without you."

"I only helped a little bit. You have a great voice that put it all together. All those hours rehearsing that...that must have been so tedious."

Rose sat down and sighed. "It was."

"But everyone loved it, so it was worth it."

The man kneeled down at the table between Sarah and Rose. He looked directly at Rose. "You did great, Rose!"

Sarah couldn't help but glance at him and try not to hide a smile. "I think this is going to become a club favorite."

"I hope it will. I love performing it. I can't help but think of Jack now."

The man with blonde hair smiled. "Yeah, Rose! Remember the last night on the Titanic when we kissed on the bow of the ship?"

Sarah's stared at the man. It had to be Jack. It couldn't be anyone else. As far as she was concerned, that was the only man she kissed on Titanic.

"What are you looking at, Sarah?" Rose asked.

"Oh, nothing. Daydreaming, I suppose," Sarah said, diverting her attention back to Rose.

"You should have written about the time we--" Jack stopped himself and looked at Sarah. "The time we had dinner together."

Sarah thought it was so bizarre that here she could see this man that she was pretty sure was Jack, when Rose, after all those years of longing to see him, was right in front of her, invisible to Rose.

She wondered if Rose would believe her when she told her. Would Rose believe her when Sarah told her that she was a medium? Would she even tell her that she was a medium? She hadn't told anyone in fear that they thought she was crazy.

After a few songs, Rose went back on the stage. Jack took the place of Rose in her seat. He was directly across from her.

"So you can see me?" the man asked.

"Yes," she said. "That's why I'm talking to you." Silence. She looked around her. People were talking to each other or too absorbed in Rose. "You don't see a light, do you?"

The man shook his head. He appeared to be about seventeen years old, with light blue eyes that seemed serious. He leaned forward. His lips were in a thin line. "I need you to tell Rose something."

"I need you to tell me your name," she said.

Suddenly the man disappeared as quickly as he came. She scanned for him but found not even a trace. Sarah sighed and focused her attention back to Rose, who was singing another song. She wondered when she would see him again. If it was a message for Rose, and that indeed was Jack Dawson who she saw, she prayed that it would be soon.

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**What do you think of it? I love getting feedback!**


	13. Crossing Over

**FINAL CHAPTER!!! If you don't understand this chapter, I suggest you watch an episode of Ghost Whisperer. Best show ever, by the way. Thank you for the reviews! **

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_Loud music filled the third-class dining area. Bagpipes sounded, people were dancing as if they didn't have a care in the world, men played cards...it was the perfect party._

_Rose walked down in her red and black dress with Jack. They danced together to an up-tempo song, quickly becoming the center of attention. Rose looked positively radiant._

_All of a sudden, she saw darkness. Rose was on a piece of wood and Jack was in the ocean. Rose's teeth were chattering, both of their hair sprinkled with frost. Rose saw a light and heard a boat coming closer._

"_Jack," she said quietly, shaking him. "There's a boat, Jack."_

_No response._

"_Jack," she said, shaking his hand again, her voice cracking. "Jack!"_

_Jack was being shaken just enough to have his hands off the piece of wood. His body slowly began the descent down to the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean, along with many others._

Sarah gasped as she sat up. It was the same man that she saw last night at Richards when Rose was singing. She saw the ghost of Jack Dawson.

Her heart was beating fast. She felt uneasy. Jack Dawson was with her last night and she didn't even realize it. She knew she had to tell Rose. But then the crazy factor was there again.

Sarah got up and put a robe on, then walked downstairs. She had dreamed of the night that Jack had died. Rose looked so sad.

This had been going on for Sarah her whole life. She was always surrounded by spirits. They were ones who had not yet crossed over because they had unfinished business with the living. Sometimes the came to her in dreams, sometimes physically. They looked like normal people to her. It was always just a simple message, from what she had experienced at least. But she was puzzled when it came to Jack. What could he need to say to Rose?

Sarah saw Jack in the kitchen, looking out the window with a smile on his face. "Hi," she said.

"Hey," Jack replied.

"I dreamed about you," she said. "That party that Rose went to with you. And then when the Titanic sank."

Jack nodded.

"Why didn't you just tell me your name last night?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I don't know. I was scared, I guess. I mean, I always hoped one day I'd come across someone that could see me. But once it actually happened..."

Sarah nodded in understanding. "I can help you, Jack. You don't belong on Earth anymore. You said you had a message for Rose?"

"Yeah, I do." He sat in a chair in the kitchen. "You aren't my daughter, are you?"

"Your daughter?" Sarah asked as she sat down on the counter facing him. She was sick that question. "No."

"That's what I thought. You don't look like us. You look like that bastard, Cal."

Sarah's eyes went to the ground. "I get told that a lot."

Jack paused, then said, "You're his kid?"

"Adopted," Sarah defended. "Perfect match though, huh?"

"Oh, I am going to kill him for what he did to Rose! Where is he?"

"I'm afraid the killing's already been done, Jack. He died."

She could tell Jack was about to say something but bit his tongue.

"You can say it," Sarah egged. "He deserved it. And he did."

Jack nodded. "He did deserve it."

"What do you mean? What did he do to you and Rose?"

Jack looked at her. "She didn't tell you?"

Sarah shook her head. "She mentioned that he basically owned her. She failed to mention anything horrible." She sighed. "This has been really hard on Rose. You being gone, I mean. It's been fifteen years and she still misses you like it was yesterday."

Jack's blue eyes widened. "It's been fifteen years?"

Sarah nodded.

"Wow. That's a long time."

"It is." She played with her hair, then stopped. "She still loves you, Jack. I can see it in her eyes when she talks about you."

He nodded. "I know. She told me right before I died that she loved me. And I told her not to say her goodbyes." Silence. "I love her."

"I know you do, Jack. That's why you're still attached to her."

"No, I mean...I love her. I never got to tell her that. That's why I'm still on Earth."

Sarah thought that was the sweetest thing that she had ever heard. Now she realized why Rose had taken his name when she docked in New York.

"And Miss..." Jack fished.

"Dawson, now. But call me Sarah."

"Sarah. Could you please give her that message?"

She nodded.

"Sarah?" Rose asked.

Sarah looked away from Jack to Rose. Her face turned red. She prayed that she didn't hear what she was saying.

"What are you doing?" Rose asked.

"Oh, nothing." She hopped off of the counter. "Just looking outside."

"I thought I heard you talking to someone."

"You must have been dreaming," Sarah said.

Rose nodded in agreement. "Yes. Dreaming." She walked over to the tea kettle and made two cups of tea. While she was waiting for the water to steam, she leaned against the counter. All three of them were quiet.

"Sarah, can I ask you something?" Rose asked.

"Anything," Sarah said.

She chuckled lightly. "You must think I'm going crazy, but do you feel something in this house?"

"Do I feel something?" she repeated slowly.

"Yes. Like a spirit."

Sarah felt relieved that someone had felt Jack. "Yes. I sense one very much."

"I knew it!" Jack said. "I knew you could see me, Rose!"

"Do you feel one right now?" Sarah asked.

"Yes," Rose replied. "It's not just you and me."

"It's because it's not."

Rose gave her a questioning glance.

Sarah prepared herself to tell her biggest secret. "Jack's here. He's sitting in the chair by the window."

"Wh...You can see him?" Rose asked.

Sarah nodded, her heart racing.

"Tell her, Sarah. Please," Jack pleaded.

"Just wait," she whispered.

"What?" Rose asked.

Sarah shook her head. "Nothing. But, uh, Jack's here for a reason. He has unfinished business with you. Only positive, though."

Rose let a breath escape from her. Her navy blue eyes were wide. "What kind of business, Sarah?"

"He wants to tell you something he never got to tell you. It was after the Titanic sank, and you were on a piece of wood and he was on the ocean. You said I love you to him. He never said it back."

Rose kept her gaze on Sarah. Rose hadn't told this part of the tale of Titanic to her yet.

"I love you, Rose," Jack said. "I love you so much and I'm sorry I never got to say that when I was alive."

"He says he loves you," Sarah said. "He regrets not saying it when you could hear him."

Rose put her hand to her mouth, tears brimming her eyes. "Can I tell him something?"

"Anything."

Rose's eyes strayed place to place. "This is all my fault, Jack. If I had gotten on the lifeboat when you and Cal told me to, then that door that I was on, you could have been on it and lived. We would have been living in Santa Monica or maybe even in Paris. We would have gotten married, we would have had children..." Rose wiped a tear from her cheek. "I still love you."

"Rose, no. Don't you do this. This is not your fault. Don't you dare blame yourself for something that was out of your control," Jack said.

"He says it wasn't your fault. He doesn't want you to blame yourself," Sarah said.

"Well, I can't help but feel a little guilty. There are always going to be a lot of what-if's with Titanic. What if Jack had lived? What if Cal hadn't gotten on a lifeboat? What if _I_ had gotten on a lifeboat..." Rose trailed off.

"Rose," Jack said sternly. "Stop. What was your song titled?"

"He wants to know what your song was titled," Sarah interpreted. "The one you and I wrote together."

"M-My Heart Will Go On," Rose said quietly.

"Yeah," Jack said. "Your heart _will _go on. And so far you haven't kept that promise you made me."

"He said you haven't kept to that promise you made," Sarah said, totally not sure of what Jack was talking about."

Rose wiped another tear from her cheek. "Never let go," she whispered.

"Yeah. Never let go, Rose," he said gently. His light blue eyes widened at as he looked at something past Rose. "Is that light for me?"

"You're the only that can see it," Sarah said.

Jack smiled and got up. He went over to Rose and kissed her on the cheek. "I'll be waiting for you," he said.

Sarah felt a lump start to form in her throat. This had to be the most romantic couple ever, tragically cut short.

"What's going on?" Rose asked, touching her cheek where Jack had just kissed her.

"He's ready to cross over. Go to Heaven," Sarah said.

"What?" Rose said.

"This is good for him," Sarah said. "He doesn't belong here."

Rose stood in stunned silence at the news. Sarah saw Jack walk towards the living room, then slowly disappeared. Sarah felt a chill go through her body.

"He's gone," Rose said, the tears flowing freely from her eyes.

"Oh, Rose," Sarah said, hugging her. "He had to. He said he'll be waiting for you."

Sarah felt a tear slide down her cheek as they both stood silently in the kitchen. She knew life for both of them was changed forever. But they could handle it together. They were Dawsons, after all.

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**I think I'm going to work on a sequel. Do you guys want one? I'll only do it if it's in demand, which I'm guessing it will be. I'll start that in about a week if I get enough people to say yes. I hope you enjoyed this story. It was so fun to write it! Hehe!**


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